Of Journals & Journeys
by RoswellianMisha
Summary: AU M/L. Life is predictable and completely risk free for one Liz Parker, head of the biology molecular department in a small lab in Washington State. It's such a pity that trouble has found her in the form of Max Evans. Life is full of invisible chains, a prison without walls for Max. He wants out, if only he can find the way to neutralize the drug that keeps him in check.
1. Friend or Foe

**Disclaimer:** Gees, would I love to own them?! But nope, you all know who the owners are, and certainly that doesn't include me. I'm just writing for fun But to make it official: The characters of "Roswell" belong to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, WB, and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement is intended.  
><strong>Category:<strong> AU - Max&Liz  
><strong>Rating:<strong> T, for very occasional language and violence.

**Summary:** What if no shifters had survived the crash?

Life is predictable, comfortable and completely risk free for one Liz Parker, head of the biology molecular department in a small lab in Washington State. As far from Roswell and little green men as one could get. It's such a pity that trouble has found her in the form of Max Evans.

Life is full of invisible chains, a prison without walls for Max. He wants out, if only he can find the way to neutralize the drug that keeps him in check. Can he trust this doctor? Can he live with yet another person in his life looking at him as a thing and not a person?

**AN:** This story explores the idea of what could have happened if no shifters had survived the crash, meaning no pod chamber, no message from home, no Roswell as we know it. Yet a certain couple seems to be destined to find each other. Be aware that this is strictly a Max & Liz story, with no side couples. Sure, other characters from the show have important roles, but that's about it.

Many thanks to my betas,** Michelle in LA** and** xilaj**, who actually thought this was a good idea :)

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><p><strong>.<strong>

**Of Journals & Journeys**

**.**

_Journal entry 1, January 4th, 2011_

Funny how I haven't had a Journal since my high school years, back when I was a small girl from a small town, right in the middle of nowhere. When life was predictable. When your dreams could come true with just enough hard work and the future was waiting to happen.

When life used to be so easy.

I didn't know that then. The plan I set for myself worked perfectly well, one which was colored with the reds and browns of falls in Boston, and the smiles and hugs of my parents and friends when I graduated from Harvard. I wasn't a small town girl anymore, and it didn't matter that I came from a small town, either. I had the world at my feet, even if it was only the world of molecular biology. My dream became true.

The thing nobody bothers to tell you about dreams, though, is that you have to be flexible about them.

I'd dreamed of being head of the molecular biology department, until I realized what _exactly_ a head of a department does. And how long it takes to be one, especially at Harvard. When a small, yet promising research lab had an opening for me at the other side of the country, I took it without a second thought. I was going to be the head of a department, one way or another, no matter where or what size.

So here I am, a name plate on my door proudly displaying Elizabeth Parker, M.D., three technicians under my wing, and a boss-slash-owner I hardly see. Dream job any way you look at it, if you ask me.

Until just about an hour ago, things had been pleasant enough. Predictable enough. Organized in the way I like things, where problems get resolved no matter how big they are. Science has a way of reducing everything to the smallest pieces, allowing you to find answers. Sure, it takes time and leads to many disappointments, but the beauty of it is that, sooner or later, you'll get results. You'll get answers.

I guess that's why _he_ chose me. It makes sense, really. I have the skills and the equipment and the privacy. And _he_ has… I don't even have a name for what he has. While I look at what is under the microscope, all I know is that life is never going to be the same.

That suddenly, life is not going to be easy any more.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<br>Friend or Foe**

* * *

><p>She was working late, as usual, but she didn't mind. Lab work was a solitary job most of the time and she found that soothing. Her mind could work in peace, her thoughts rarely straying from what she had in front of her.<p>

Everything in this little corner of her world was white, silver, or black, the expensive equipment on the other three lab stations neatly cleaned out for the day. White light reflected from the chrome instruments and the white tiles on her own station, making everything look sharper, clinical, leaving everything outside her personal space in black shadows. Rows and rows of test tubes waited to be used, while brown colored bottles on the shelves were perfectly aligned in alphabetical order. She never noticed how quiet things got when she was alone, never had a second thought about the things that lurked in those shadows.

Never heard him coming, either.

"Good evening, Dr. Parker."

Liz turned her head so fast she almost fell from her stool. It wasn't the fact that it was a man's voice, or even a stranger's voice that made her react so violently. It was rather the subtle danger that was in the barely whispered four words, something beyond rational that triggered some ancient instinct to skip fight and go directly to flight.

Ten feet away in the doorframe, a man looked at her intently, barely moving a muscle, certainly not concerned about how badly he had startled her. Certainly knowing he had her cornered.

"I—I— Who are you?"

Her heart rammed in her chest, the adrenaline surge far from over. If his voice had not warned her, his honey-colored eyes certainly dared her to run and never look back. Under the harsh white light, those eyes looked older. Way older. She didn't notice the black leather jacket, or the dark jeans. She didn't notice he wore no tags which would have granted him access to the lab where she was. All she did notice were those eyes. Hard, angry at their depths.

And scared.

He didn't want to be here.

She didn't want him to be here, either.

Breaking the spell, he walked in, furtively looking around the empty lab. She was the only one here, probably the only one on the entire floor, a fact that came rushing to the forefront of her mind as he came closer.

"I'm Max."

She swallowed hard, but she didn't take her eyes off him. She didn't like feeling trapped, but as long as she could read those hazel eyes, she felt like she knew what was coming. That she was still in control.

"I need your help." Those eyes didn't get softer, but Liz knew asking this was not only a big deal, it was also a carefully planned line.

"Help you… how?"

Three feet from her, he stopped. His eyes focused on the microscope she'd been using. She was not the only one tense in this room, she could tell that much.

"I need you to research… something for me."

_Drugs._ It was her first thought. He looked like someone who kept secrets. Someone involved in illegal stuff. What would it be? A meth lab? Something that would need a chemist? She didn't move. She never took her eyes off his.

"There's… _something_… running in my veins," he almost whispered, his eyes glued to the microscope as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"I—I'm not the right type of doctor for…"

His eyes returned to hers, and her heart sunk. "No, you are the _perfect_ doctor. For this."

She barely shook her head, swallowing once again. Fear was replaced with purpose in the depths of those eyes. "Graduated first in your class. You love science. You love quiet."

Her mouth became desert dry. He looked back at the microscope. She didn't dare to breathe.

"So you'll do it for the science, for I have the perfect _project_ for you."

Project_ is not his favorite word, _ Liz fleetingly thought, noticing how his eyes had narrowed at that. She couldn't swallow anymore, but her mind had no problem guessing was being unsaid: _or you'll do it to stay alive. _

She shook her head again, more at her own thoughts than at his last words. She did not need this trouble. He took a step back, and she was thankful for that.

"I don't even know what you want me to find?" _I don't even have a reason to find it! _

His confidence sagged a little at that, and his eyes turned to the floor. Was it doubt that crossed his eyes?

"As I said… there's something in my veins."

"Drugs," she stated.

"_A_ drug," he corrected. "Something you won't find on the streets," he tried to joke, but it came stressed. "It's… highly addictive. I want you to find what it is, and how to get me off of it. Or if… I… can't live without it, I need you to produce it for me, until I can find the right supplier," he whispered now, more than doubt in those words making his eyes look vulnerable. Something like desperation.

"Who's your supplier now?" she whispered back.

It took him a second, but he got his confidence back, and with it, his eyes closed off to her. "The US government. Make no mistake, Dr. Parker. If they find out I was here, they'll kill you. If you contact anyone, they'll know. It'll mean a lot of trouble for me, but it'll mean far worse to you."

She shook her head yet again. "I don't want— I don't want any trouble."

He looked at her, really looked at her, and she wondered if those haunted eyes were going to be the last thing she saw before he killed her. A tense, silent minute went by. Then he nodded to himself, and walked past her, to the lab station further into the room.

She could run. She _had_ to run out of there, but her body didn't move. Her eyes remained on his back as he opened a couple of drawers, looking for God knew what. Her curiosity won over her self-preservation instincts, but her breath caught in her throat when he finally found what he wanted from the third drawer: a syringe.

_Now_ she stood up, her back to the door, her feet managing two steps back before he turned around, taking his jacket off. He wore a black t-shirt that let the world know he worked out. A lot. But all Liz saw was the syringe in his right hand, going to his left arm.

"I'm going to contact you in two days," the syringe went in. He didn't even flinch, "and if what you see in this sample does not pique your interest, I'll never contact you again." Blood quickly filled the plastic tube. Dread quickly filled her body.

He took the needle out, and one drop swelled in his arm before he wiped it out with his hand. He handed her the sample before she could even blink. "If you show it to anyone, _anyone_ Dr. Parker, it won't be pretty. If you don't want to work with me, I'll understand. If you do, we'll arrange later meetings."

Painfully aware of how scare she was –and how pale she must look—she received the sample with shaking hands. She wanted to trash it right in front of him, so he would know she was_ not _interested in this kind of trouble. But she didn't. She wouldn't risk her life for that. Once he walked out of the door, though…

The syringe felt heavy. Lead heavy. He could have placed a feather on her hands and the result would have been the same. He looked at her for a moment longer, maybe having second thoughts. Maybe wanting to make sure she had understood how serious this was. Under the unwanted weight of his stare, she looked down at the syringe, his dark red blood looking like any other sample she'd ever seen. She closed her hand around it, and looked up to ask a few hundred questions of her own.

Shadows were all her answer. She never heard him going, either.


	2. Bad Blood

_Journal entry 2, January 6__th__, 2011. _

Forty-eight hours don't seem like much, but for me, they were eternity.

I should have followed my first instinct and destroyed the sample. I should have packed my things and left the city that night. I should have done a million, sensible, _logical_ things once Max walked out of that door. But once my hands stopped shaking, once my mouth started swallowing again, I took that vial of blood and looked at it under the microscope.

Like Pandora before me, I shouldn't have opened that box.

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<br>Bad Blood**

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><p>The lab was empty again. With half the lab technicians still on vacation for the year-end holidays, Liz had had the lab to herself for the last two days.<p>

She shouldn't have looked, yes, but once she did… She had slept all of five hours since, and when she had, she had dreamed of those intense eyes, of the syringe filling with blood, of what she'd seen under the microscope.

_What you see cannot be unseen._

Not enough blood was in that sample to run half the tests she'd wanted to, but the other half had come back with bizarre, intriguing results. Max was right: she would do it for the science. Not that she wasn't interested in the staying alive part, too, but this—this knowledge she now possessed? This was priceless. And dangerous. And barely the tip of the iceberg.

He stood in the doorway just like two days before, but this time, for the briefest of moments, Liz read wariness in his eyes. Then it was gone. He walked in, and stood right in the middle between her and the door, maybe unsure if he wanted to be there or not._He's afraid,_ she thought, still sitting on her stool, watching him with renewed interest.

A silent, heavy moment settled between them where both acknowledged that she now knew the truth about him.

"You're not— you're not human," she finally stated, the three words she'd been wanting to scream since the moment she'd seen his blood cells under her microscope.

"Not entirely. I've been told the right definition is a hybrid." His voice was quiet, but his body tensed. The bad kind of tensing, too.

_Who told you? And a human-what hybrid?_

"I— I tried to look for the drugs—"

"_The_ drug," he corrected her, from plural to single.

She nodded nervously. "But… there's so much— so much to go through. A baseline to draw, for starters, and—" she kept looking at him, _staring_ at him, trying to find something, _anything_ that would give him away. He looked human, very much so, even if his blood betrayed him. Had she not seen him taking the sample from his own arm, she wouldn't have believed him. "—and other tests to be done. Are there any others like you? Someone who is not drugged?"

It was as if the light in the room had gone dimmer, everything about Max becoming darker, colder. "There are no others like me." There were daggers in those words. It even looked painful to say them. "I take it you want the job."

It wasn't a question, yet she didn't know what to answer. _Yes, I want to know so much more about this, about you._ And _No, you mean more problems than I can handle. I'm just a small town girl, how can I get tangled up with something as dangerous as you?_

What came out of her mouth instead was the question that had been running through her sleep-deprived mind for two days: "Why are they drugging you?"

"So I won't run," came his honest answer. "If you are going to do this, Dr. Parker, if you are going to take more of my blood and look for what I asked of you, you'll get to know things—things that if anyone finds out you know about them, it will mean you'll be dead before a day goes by. The research you'll do, you won't be able to use it for anything else, other than to help me. Whatever I say to you will go to the grave with you. If that grave comes sooner rather than later because you couldn't keep your mouth shut, it will be up to you."

He was giving her one last chance to back out. To tell him to go out of the door and out of her life. She knew he had researched _her._ She also knew he had picked _her._ He saw something in her that was trustworthy. Or disposable. She wasn't sure which, but she knew she had a 50-50 chance.

Plus, he was dead wrong if he thought that what she learned from him was not going to be useful in any other research.

"I want to know," she said in a far steadier voice than she'd imagined. "But I can't promise I'll find your answer. Your blood is too different. Researching you will take a good deal of time, and I'll be unable to trace the drug until then. Max—it might take me years before I have any answer for you. And in the end, it might still be a _no_. I may never find a way to get you off it."

She'd rehearsed that little speech for the last four hours, not knowing what kind of reaction to expect. What met her words was sheer determination.

"I know. But I have to try."

That night they settled a weekly routine. She would report to him, he said, verbally and all copies of her work would be kept at the lab. _Nothing gets out of here,_ he added in that quiet yet menacing voice of his, no trace of vulnerability in those haunting eyes. "I need to settle some things," he said when he was putting his jacket on, "then we'll talk." He was gone before twenty minutes had passed, leaving behind him another full syringe.

When she saw him leave, she wondered what secrets Max carried other than his blood.


	3. Away

_January 12__th__, 2011 – Day 1578 __and __counting_

"Okay Max, you're ready to go," Frank says in his cheerful way, patting me twice on the shoulder as he's always done as long as I can remember. He's one of the few who've been part of my life since it began, so he's also one of the few who are not afraid of being in the same room with me.

He also gives me thorough monthly check-ups, and faster weekly ones. They used to be daily, but now that I'm all grown up, my body has stopped changing. I have not developed a new power for seven years now, and I reached my limit about four years ago, when I turned twenty-five. I can't heal myself faster, or move heavier objects, or sustain my shield longer than I did then, but Frank is always asking, always pushing to see if I have gotten just a little bit stronger.

He's also the one who gives me my weekly dose. We never talk about it. He doesn't like it any more than I do, but we are both powerless to stop it. It was the deal I agreed to. It is the deal I want to get out of.

He injects the amber liquid, and waits. He's looking for any ill reaction, and I'm not allowed to leave until an hour has passed. He sits behind his desk; I sit on his oversized green couch. We've been doing this for four years, 1578 days exactly, so we have this routine down to perfection.

There's no rush to this drug. I do not get high, or stunned, or delirious. I also don't get depressed, sleepy or in any way incapacitated. But my body feels _relief_. I _am_ addicted to this amber liquid to the point I almost feel myself salivating when I see it every week. If I miss it, even by one day, I start shaking. In two days I have a full blow withdrawal crisis. I might be curled up on the floor, shaking and desperate, but I still am in full control of my powers. And I would do _anything_ to get my dose.

They have only let me go through that twice, once to see my reaction, and the next one to make sure I wouldn't forget.

I think about it all the time.

I pick my book and make myself comfortable. The clock is ticking and it means I have fifty-eight more minutes to go before Frank declares I have survived another dose without my body outright breaking down in front of him. I've read his notes, and he thinks my metabolism will find a way to reject this drug eventually. I have lived four years of my life waiting for that to happen. It hasn't, of course, and I keep waiting. Once it happens, though, I'll disappear.

Working closely with Frank has taught me one more thing: it's not easy to work with my biology. The few things he knows for sure have taken him years to understand. That's why I had to start early on my escape plan. That's why I went to Dr. Parker last week. She's my plan B. It's going to be years before she finds anything, so chances are my body will figure it out first, and I won't have to depend on her.

On the other hand, I remind myself grimly, if plan A ever works, if my body does finally reject the drug and they find out about that— I might not even survive long enough to bask in my triumph.

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<br>Away**

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><p>It was late when his orders arrived. He was supposed to go to Parker the next day, but there was no way around it. He couldn't contact her, but he told himself that it was okay. She didn't say anything to anyone the first two days. She didn't run for the hills. And when he finally went to see her a week ago, she'd looked at him as something <em>other.<em> Just like every new doctor who ever saw him for the first time: professionally, clinically. Detached. It meant her scientific mind was engaged. And that was all he ever expected from her.

Somewhere deep inside, it hurt. To not be seen as an equal, not a _who_ but a _what_. It shouldn't matter since disappointment seemed to always be part of his life, one way or another. He wanted to live free, it didn't matter what she thought of him.

It shouldn't matter, but it did.

He came back to the base three days later, his mission accomplished. Debriefing was always long where he was concerned, because there were too many things to explain, too many reports to fill out. What powers he'd used, for how long, at what time. Had anybody seen him?

That was their main concern: Had anybody seen him? He had to be careful, oh so careful, because if he was seen, chances were he would be put back in some dark corner. It would mean good-bye to his so called freedom, limited as it was. And his plan B.

By the time debriefing was done, he was too tired to play hide and seek and sneak out to go see Parker. Before he knew it, he was being drafted for another mission.

When he came back to the base from his fourth mission in a row, he started getting nervous. Maybe he had been followed. Maybe they were keeping him away so he wouldn't know Dr. Parker had just disappeared. More than ever, he wanted to go to her.

"Are you doing okay?" Frank asked, shining his pen-light on his eyes for the millionth time. Max used to think it was funny when he was a kid. It was just procedure now, meaningless and boring.

"I could use a little bit more sleep," Max said, barely suppressing a yawn, his words sounding slightly slurred. He wasn't sure in what time zone he was, but his body was pretty convinced it was nighttime somewhere. He needed to find a suitable bed _now_.

"They asked for you again, but I told them no," Frank said with a serious face. Several agencies used Max's abilities without really knowing what they were requesting, but Frank had the last word about Max's physical and mental health, and if he didn't give the green light, Max didn't go.

"Thank you," Max said sincerely. The price he paid for using his abilities without any resting time was that he needed his "fix" sooner, and Frank never liked to give him one outside schedule.

His left hand started shaking, right under the watchful eyes of his doctor. Frank frowned. "I'm keeping you here for the next two weeks. To hell with whatever they want."

Plan B would have to wait, he thought resignedly as he smiled to his friend.


	4. Reports

_Journal entry 3 – January 27__th__, 2011_

I haven't seen Max in three weeks, nor has he contacted me in any other way. I won't lie and say that I'm not worried there's going to be some man in a dark suit waiting for me at every turn I make, because I am. But I'm also far more worried about Max than I am for myself.

This is too important for him to just let it go. He was not playing with me. He _needs_ to know how far or how little I've advanced. So I'm afraid someone found out what he was trying to do. They might not have found out he's already contacted me, that I already know too much, but it doesn't mean he's okay.

A small voice in my head says he's testing me. That he wants to know if the small town girl has the guts to keep this secret and not run for the hills. And I have been tempted.

The lab has been full for the past weeks, and I haven't dared even to look at the blood sample until I'm totally alone. I'm also paranoid someone is going to take the sample by mistake, even if it is in my office under lock, so in full blown paranoia, I watch it like a hawk.

It's all gone now, the sample. There's only so much I can stretch it to last. If Max doesn't come soon, I won't be able to go any further.

If he doesn't come soon, I'm going to start believing it was all just an extremely vivid, extremely weird dream.

Even if I know better.

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<br>Reports**

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><p>Liz was just about to leave when the shadow in the doorway made her stop.<p>

"I was starting to wonder if I had dreamed you up," she said to try to lighten her heart. Maybe to lighten his, too. Maybe to just say something instead of stupidly staring at him.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said, coming into the room and walking past her, as if they did this all the time to the point that _hello_ was no longer necessary. In his hands she saw a bag of Thai take out, her treacherous stomach grumbling in response. He placed the food at the end of her work station, and grabbed a stool to sit on.

He wasn't smiling, but his body language was friendly enough to indicate that he was expecting her to take a seat next to him.

_He looks tired,_ Liz thought, resisting the urge to stare as she put her things down. _He's tired and pretending not to be._ "Are you okay?" she asked, helping him take the food containers out.

"I'm always okay," he said with just the faintest bite of irony. She didn't ask for more.

He passed her the black plastic fork and knife. She opened a drawer and got a couple of dishes out. They worked efficiently and quietly, setting their dinner for two. Small talk was out of the question, and they both knew it.

"What do you have?" he asked before they started eating, the smell of spices and chicken doing funny things to her increasingly grumbling stomach.

"A lot of things— and not much, really," she answered, looking at her food since staring at him was out of the question. "It would help me to know a few things. I mean, if you… don't mind."

"Ask away," he said simply, sticking his fork in the orange colored rice.

"How old are you?"

"Officially, twenty-nine. Depending on what exactly you're counting, I can also be twenty-three." He grabbed for his natural tea. This time, she did stare at him.

"You don't look twenty-nine," she said stupidly, thinking _you don't look twenty-three_ would sound even worse. He didn't look like he was joking, either, but he _had_ to. What kind of age could be measured in two separate numbers?

"Thank you. Next?"

"I know you said they were drugging you so you would come back. Why would you run away?"

"How is that medically relevant?" this time, his amicable tone was gone. While she studiously avoided his gaze by watching her incredibly interesting mustard dressing on her salad, she could feel his piercing eyes on her. Her cheeks grew red.

"I— I just thought— maybe it was a physical reason. Something that would help me understand."

He hesitated, something she wasn't expecting. It was such an un-Max thing to do, really. He took another bite, thoughtful this time.

"There is," he said, lowering his fork, "I mean, there is a physical reason why they want me back. But it shouldn't be relevant to what you're looking for." He grabbed a small Tabasco bottle from an inner pocket in his jacket and started to pour it on his food. As with all things Max, it was strange enough that she had to stare at it, wondering how he was going to be able to swallow that fireball.

"Are you…" _going to be sick? _"allergic to anything?"

"No. And I've been tested extensively, so there's no doubt about that."

"Any illnesses?"

"None. I don't get sick."

"Not even a cold?"

"Not even that."

"Ever?"

"Ever," he whispered, not really seeing his food as he stuck the fork into it, lost in his own thoughts and memories of what it meant to always be healthy.

_It makes you different. _

Awkwardness filled the silence between them. Even taking a drink or two from her Snapple felt forced, yet her tolerance to Tai food demanded she drank something, however inappropriate the timing was. He started eating again, and she stopped drinking, thankful. Biting her lower lip, words eluded her to keep asking her questions.

"Is there any chance I could get any clean sample from you?"

He shook his head, his turn to take a long drink. "The most I can try is a couple of hours before my next dose."

She nodded in defeat.

"Max? How— how long have they been drugging you?"

"Four years, three months, twenty-five days… and counting," he recited it as if the number were printed on the plastic fork. He tried not to stab at his food this time, but failed miserably.

_What do you say to that? "I'm sorry"?_

"What did they use before? To keep you there?" she asked, starting to feel sick.

Max stopped again, thoughtful.

"Nothing," he answered in a cheerless tone. "They used nothing," he repeated, but his shoulders sagged a little, and his eyes lost focus for a moment. "Nothing chemical, anyway."

She nodded as if that actually made sense, slowly returning to her food. Silence stretched again for a couple of minutes as they both kept eating.

"Do they hurt you?" she whispered, unable to look at him, feeling her stomach becoming solid rock. She'd run some pretty wild theories in her mind, but the way Max spoke seemed to point to her darkest thoughts.

A moment went by. Another. She risked looking up, finding Max slowly chewing, thinking through his answer. "You mean… physically? No. I _am_ the only one they have. They sedate me for some testing, but it's in their best interest that I'm always at my top capacity. They are usually… decent people. I have nothing against them."

He looked at her, trying to see if she understood. Maybe trying to understand himself why he still respected the people he wanted to run away from. He looked at his food after a moment.

"About four years ago I helped them figure out some… complex things. They didn't think it was possible, but when I did… Let's just say it opened the world to me. So the problem became to have a leash on me while letting me do my newfound job."

"The drug."

"And blindly and stupidly I accepted." Frustration as palpable as the table they were eating on filled the space between them. "They'll never let me go, Doctor. No matter what I do, no matter how many orders I follow, or how willingly I participate on their schemes. I'm tired of living as a virtual prisoner, reporting to everyone, being told where to go, what to do, or who to—" He stopped, swallowing whatever he had in mind and his temper with it. It took him a moment, but he got his composure back. Now that he'd made his point, he stabbed at his food for his next bite in complete silence.

_O-kay…_

"What—what about your parents?"

"There aren't any," his tone was more subdued, though anger still lurked in his eyes. "I was created in a test tube."

"What? That's not possible!"

He shrugged, giving no importance to whatever she was about to say.

"No, Max. Science wasn't that advanced three decades ago. Hell, it's not advanced enough today!"

"I beg to differ," he said, still looking at his food and not her.

"I've seen pretty advanced stuff. Gene manipulation is in its infancy. What you are— whatever hybridization they say they created— it's still eons away."

"Think whatever you want."

It sounded so final when he said it like that. She felt insulted that he would place so little trust in her knowledge.

"They've been drugging you for four years, practically keep you a prisoner, and you _believed_ them when they told you that?"

That stopped him in his tracks. "What else could it be?" he asked, for the first time in his life pondering the mysteries of his origins, it seemed.

She'd been thinking about it for three weeks straight and she had plenty of absurd theories running around in her head.

"I don't know, but you being created in a test tube thirty years ago is _not_ the answer."


	5. Roadblock

_January 30th, 2011 – Day 1580 and counting_

The thing about Parker is that she's right.

From the first moment I asked when I was a little kid, I was told that I was a very special boy. Their miracle. They created me, and I was everything they had hoped for. As I grew up, the explanation became more elaborate, complex, but I remained the center of the wonderment, and what's not to like about that, right?

Yes, I was a test subject, but that never bothered me. I didn't know better, and they didn't seem concerned about it either. I didn't have a reason to distrust them.

What I never asked, what I never even thought about was, if I were such a wonderful boy, why didn't they make more of me?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<br>Roadblock**

* * *

><p>"Hey, how was the park?" Frank asked entering the small kitchen while Max chugged on his second bottle of water. He'd been running his usual five miles, and it showed.<p>

"Cold and empty," Max replied, trashing the bottle into the plastics container in one perfect arc.

"Beats running on the treadmill, huh?" Frank pointed out, a smile on his face. The smell of coffee filled the small room as he filled his mug.

"Yeah," Max answered, not as enthusiastically.

He had run on a treadmill for the first twelve years of his life, not only because he needed to exercise, but because his endurance had to be measured. Every time he'd broken his previous record, he'd felt so elated. He'd given them his best, so it hurt to wonder why they hadn't done the same with him. Why hadn't they trusted him with the truth?

Was there _a_ truth to begin with? What if Parker was wrong, after all? _Only one way to find out._

"Oh, I was wondering," Max said, putting his half-thought plan in motion, "can I borrow your computer for a minute?"

Frank took his coffee mug and swallowed a drink before answering. "Sure. I'll be there in a moment."

"Thanks."

He hoped the coffee would last Frank a whole lot more time than it probably would, but he still didn't run to his office. Four locked doors stood between him and Frank's lab, and none of them represented a problem for him. In fact, half the missions he ever did needed him to get through doors.

No one looked twice when he entered the empty office.

Most of the time, a part of Max's job consisted in retrieving information. It was someone else's job to decipher it, analyze it, do whatever it was they did with it. It didn't mean he didn't know his way around computers, at least to an extent.

Passwords, on the other hand, were trickier. If he wasn't careful, he would end up frying the hard drive. Luckily for Frank, Max already knew his password.

Sparing one glanced at the closed door, Max went right to the heart of the files. Frank was a very organized guy, and his filing system did not disappoint.

"Come on, come on…" Tons of reports appeared at every click: about the last missions, about supplies, about the budget. He wasn't interested in those things. He was interested in getting Parker her files, the ones that would have his blood composition minus the drug.

He also wanted a couple of answers for himself.

Test results were never hidden from him. If he knew about himself, he could take care of himself. But information like biochemistry and genetics hadn't been something anyone thought he should know, including himself. That didn't matter now, either. What she'd said, about his origins, that had most definitely interested him.

If he'd been created in a test tube, there were bound to be thousands of files about the trials, about the donors, about the entire thing. Somewhere, deep inside, he was both excited and afraid that maybe there _were_ more like him, siblings in a way, who had been kept from him.

He didn't know how to feel about that, but as the mouse kept clicking, Max started to look more and more at the door. Frank would not take much longer now.

_There,_ he said under his breath, finding the files on his drug test results, part of what Parker had asked him. And _there_ was also a problem: Frank didn't keep files older than three years on his hard drive. Nothing from before he'd started taking the drug would be on this computer.

Physical copies were not stored in here. If Frank wanted to see old data, he would connect to the network and get the files from the main server.

"Damn it!" he cursed quietly. It was one thing to go through Frank's computer, it was an entirely another to log in from there and roam through the server's files.

He needed a hacker. He needed it now.


	6. Long Distance

_Journal entry 4, February 3__rd__, 2011_

This thing is consuming me.

And it's not just what I'm working with, what I'm seeing under the microscope. It's the secret. It's the mystery around Max. Does he even have a last name?

Ever since he took over my life a month ago, nothing else seems to exist. I get Mom's phone calls, Maria's phone calls, I give my reports to my boss, and I finish my work. I do the grocery shopping on weekends. But through all of that, all I can think about is the latest blood sample and the next test I want to run.

I'm also writing a list of questions I want to ask but don't dare yet. Max wasn't happy about my curious mind last time we saw each other, and they are not _medically relevant_ as he put it. Yet I'm hoping that someday, over Thai food, he'll tell me.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<br>Long Distance**

* * *

><p>"Ms. Parker, ladies and gentlemen!" Alex's voice came through the headphones, all energy and laughter. She'd been meaning to disconnect from her Skype two hours before, and then she'd forgotten.<p>

Now, one of her best friends in the world was connected all the way from Norway and wanted to chat. She smiled, while nervously watching the door. They didn't have a particular day in the week, but last time Max had come it had been a Tuesday. Now was Thursday, and she got a nagging feeling that, if Max showed up tonight, he would have something interesting in his hands.

Or maybe he wasn't coming back. That was always a distinct possibility.

"Alex! How've you been?"

"Same old, same old. Listen, I have twelve e-mails from Maria complaining that you haven't written to her in a month. Anything I should know about?"

"Besides that she's a total drama queen?"

On and on they went, until she forgot all about watching the door, and became absorbed in catching up with her friend. Alex Whitman, senior chief of his own software company. And if everything went okay, he might be doing some software work for her boss's company in two months. He would serve as a developer and consultant, but maybe he would be able to catch a flight once in a while to the US. She hadn't seen him in the flesh for four years, and they both joked that once she won the Nobel Prize, she would meet him for lunch in Oslo.

A shadow caught her attention, and sure enough, Max stood on the doorway.

"Um, listen, Alex, I'm running late for something, but you should connect more often!"

"Says she, who goes underground for weeks on end! Take care of yourself, Parker."

She took a deep breath and turned to look at the main reason she should have a care of herself: Max.

"Doctor," he said, slightly inclining his head as he came into the lab.

"Max," she greeted back, feeling awkward again. This was the fourth time they'd met, and she still had a moment of flight or fight instinct kicking in every time she saw him.

Since last week, she'd wondered if Max was some sort of supernatural being. Was there a reason why he always came at night? As in, maybe the sunlight affected him?

On the other hand, she'd grown up in Roswell, New Mexico. She _knew_ the kind of alien theories that made everyone laugh but that could, potentially, fit Max's past. The gene work she'd done on Max's samples seemed to back her up. Not that she was going to blurt it out. She'd gotten enough angry vibes from Max last time she'd poked into his origins.

"I found three year old files, but I haven't been able to open them up and read them. I don't have the right software, and I didn't want to risk being caught with it… I'm not sure if what I bring is just trash."

He gave her a USB flash drive, and once it was in her hand she didn't know whether to dive into it right away, or if Max wanted something else first.

"Report?" he quietly asked when she looked at him a little too long.

"I'm starting to get a sense of what's you and what's foreign. Is there any chance you could get me an actual dose?"

He shook his head. "Frank has them counted. It would be too obvious if one went missing."

_Frank?_

"What about the formula? Too much to ask?"

Max sat in a stool on the next lab station. "It's not made where I am. It's not made by the people who… know me."

He carefully chose that last word, Liz noticed. She nodded twice, and looked at the flash drive in her hand.

"Maybe he doesn't make it, but maybe Frank _does_ have the formula."

In went the little device, and Max stood behind her. She started to copy the files onto her hard drive. In the monitor, Alex's Skype window was still open, proudly displaying to the world, "I'm a 00110010 kind of person".

"Your friend is into computers?" Max asked, reading Alex's status. She nodded.

"Almost got expelled from school for hacking into the system just to prove he could do it. Don't worry, he lives in Norway. And I—I haven't told anyone about… anything." It was _her_ time to choose her words. Max simply nodded.

She opened the main folder, and 43 new folders came into view. They all were labeled with initials, and clicking on the first one, she was met with 365 files. All dates. A file per day. She thought she kept tight records on her work, but this Frank guy put her to shame.

"Do you know what the initials mean?" she asked.

"No…" he said in resignation, frustration filling his eyes.

"Okay… It'll take me a while, but… it's worth it, right?"

"I don't want you working through files," he said under his breath. He stepped away and looked at the ceiling, clearly thinking something through. "Leave the files alone for now. I'll try to see if I can get you something more refined. You keep working on what you were doing."

She bit her lower lip. "I need more samples from you. And not just blood."

"Okay," he didn't even blink. "I don't have time right now, and I'm probably going to be on duty all next week, but I'll see what I can do for my next visit."

He kept staring at her monitor, at the long list of files he didn't want her to waste time on.

"It'll take time," she said in a low voice, reminding him something he already knew. "But we'll figure it out."

"There's a chance…" he started, unsure if he should continue. "There's a chance my body will work this out by itself. So if I stop coming, don't… do anything. Trash it all. Leave nothing behind, okay? Just because I disappear doesn't mean you have free rein with what you have."

_You might be dead,_ was the thought that flashed on her mind. "Can't you just… let me know? That you are okay, I mean."

"Once I'm off this thing, I'm off the map, too. It'll be too risky for me. _And_ for you. You agreed to a lot of risks when you accepted my offer, Doctor. You don't need to add more to that list."

He took the flash drive out. A minute later, he was gone.


	7. Learning Curve

_February 25__th__, 2011 – Day 1601 and counting_

_Max…_

Maggs is by my side the moment I wake up. Although _wake up_ might be too strong a word.

Maggs is in her late fifties, seldom wears her lab coat, and they always call her when I have to be sedated for too-invasive testing. She's the person I trust the most besides Frank in this place, and just like him, she's been around me my whole life.

Once I started going on missions, I stopped seeing her as often. Whereas Frank is always with me when I'm at the base, Maggs just comes around every once in a while. And always when I'm feeling like crap.

"Hey…" she whispers, the light in the room dim to sooth my nerves. I try to sit up, and she stops me by placing a hand on my chest. It aches. _Everything _aches. Anesthesia and I are not good friends. "Shh… There's no rush."

But there is. I have to take my fix today. They picked today precisely because of that, so they can see some results about something or other that I can't recall right now. My body craves it. But I know how this goes: they won't give it to me until they are sure I'm out of the woods with the anesthetic. Which will take a couple of hours at best.

I start trembling.

Maggs soothes me, her hand lightly going up and down on my arm. Just like Frank, she was against me taking the drug, but she wasn't as vocal. She knew how important it was to me to go out. She also knew it wouldn't happen without me accepting the deal.

"I would have come back…" I whisper, watching the ceiling as I try to ignore my body's need for my fix. "I would have always come back…"

I feel tears pricking at my eyes. I'm always so emotional when I'm coming off these things that I should just go with it. There's nothing I can do against it, but a part of me is always ashamed about it.

Maggs doesn't say anything, and through her touch I got the distinct notion that she doesn't believe me. That once I had been out there, I wouldn't have come back. We'll never know now, will we?

All I can think about is how much I want this to stop.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven<br>Learning Curve**

* * *

><p>The last time he saw Parker, she inadvertently gave him an idea: learning to hack couldn't be that difficult if her friend had started doing it in High School.<p>

His brain absorbed knowledge like a sponge, although if he went too fast or had too much, he would just shut down. That was the reason why he hardly ever scanned anything larger than a blue-print. He didn't have eidetic memory, but scanning was something similar: He could hold the picture crystal clear in his head for about a week. And then it was gone. It became part of his everyday memories, and he would still be able to recall some details, but not the whole thing.

He could learn languages fairly easy as well, but without practice, he would eventually lose the knowledge as well.

So hacking was something he needed to learn the slow way, and he wasn't sure if Frank would like him doing that or not. He was always so eager to see Max trying his hand at something new, and it would be so much easier to get this done if Max didn't have to sneak around it.

"I have a new project," Max announced with a mischievous smile, the same one that had gotten him extra ice cream when he was seven. Frank stopped typing and looked at him with raised eyebrows. The last time those words had been said, they had been coming from Frank. And they had ended Max a drug addict somewhere down the road. "Hacking."

Frank's eyebrows went higher. "You're already good with computers," he pointed out.

"I want to be better."

They looked at each other for a moment. It was at times like this that Max felt Frank could see through his very soul. "Getting bored with the books?" Frank smiled, referring to Max's choice of entertainment. Internet was not restricted to him, but he had to report weekly why he had chosen to see whatever he had chosen to see, so books were easier to explain than fifty thousand random pages that had showed up on his browser.

"Something like that…" he smiled back.

It took the better part of two hours to convince Frank that this was not a grand scheme that needed anyone's permission. He was just curious about hacking, and didn't want to be questioned about it till death did him apart. He already had to fill out a dozen reports per week with the little he already did. Plus, Frank would be responsible for his own reports on Max's progress. Metrics would be needed. Tests designed. And all just because he was bored.

It didn't really matter if Frank agreed or not to do this without anyone else watching over his shoulder, but it would certainly make it easier if no one knew the new skill he'd gotten. So when Frank finally gave in and started warming up to the idea of watching Max learning a new skill without having to do the million boring reports, Max's spirits were high.

Not even when he realized that hacking into school records was light years away from hacking into the main server three days later did he lose that sense of victory.


	8. In Shadows

_Journal entry 5, March 12th, 2011_

I've just realized I'm doing this wrong. In my rush to get this mystery solved, to understand Max, I've been trying to look at this in a straightforward manner.

Nothing is straightforward with Max.

It's not his blood alone that is going to spill the secrets of that drug. I have to play the devil's advocate here and understand why he's being given that sort of drug to begin with. Is he violent and it keeps him calm? Does it enhance his physical or mental abilities?

What happens when he's off it?

And as much as I want to trust him, should I really help him escape?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight<br>In Shadows**

* * *

><p>"I was beginning to worry you weren't coming anymore," Liz's voice was just calm enough to make that sound like a friendly hello. At least she hoped so. She'd been finishing the day's work, locking up files and checking everything was off. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but for a month now, she'd been giving Max five minutes extra to come. Or ten.<p>

On the doorframe, Max's silhouette looked odd. Hunched slightly.

"Are you okay?" she asked, standing up, her attempt at lightness forgotten.

Max walked into the room then, his eyes looking more than tired. All of him looked drained. His hair was disarrayed, the telltale dark circles under his eyes a silent testament to his lack of sleep. Even the way he walked was slower, almost clumsy.

"I'm fine. Listen, I only have a couple of minutes before they start wondering where I am. What do you have for me?"

Even that tinge of arrogance that was usually in his voice was gone. All he really wanted right now was a bed, that much Liz could tell.

"I—I—" she stuttered, caught between the sight of Max like this and the memory of their last almost-fight. No fire was in Max tonight. "I'm done with all the average tests," she said, getting her mind on track. "Some things make sense, some… well…"

"I know. What's next?"

"Why are they drugging you?" she asked point blank, the question coming out like an accusation. Max actually seemed to stagger back.

"I thought I already told you why?" he answered with uncertainty, his hands going to his eyes. He was trying to suppress a yawn.

"No, I mean—I mean what's the reasoning behind this particular drug, physically… um, chemically? Does it make you better? Does it keep you alive?"

"It keeps me on a leash," Max answered with annoyance. Obviously, he hadn't paid attention to anything beyond the point of how this was screwing up his life.

"I know. Max, I'm not asking this out of some morbid curiosity—"

"No? Aren't _all_ your questions about some morbid curiosity about the experimental subject you have in front of you? Don't you go night after night wondering what's the secret locked in my cells? What am I, Doctor? What am I, if not your lab rat for your dream project?"

Whatever had Max in a bad mood, was definitely turning darker. He stood barely three feet from her, but an abyss opened between.

"That's _not _fair. _You_ came to me. _You_ want out of this!"

He glared at her. She glared back.

His eyes lost focus for a moment, and he reflexively leaned on the counter where she'd been working until five minutes ago. He rubbed his forehead a moment later.

"I haven't slept in three days and I'm not even sure if I'm dreaming this conversation," he explained a moment later. "What do you need, Doctor?"

It wasn't an apology, but she was more than willing to take it as that. She sighed, collecting her thoughts as best as she could. It had been a long week, and antagonizing the man with the deadly skills was not smart either.

"I need to know what happens when they give you the drug, what effects does it have on you? It will help me narrow down my choices on where to look next."

"None. I don't feel anything. I'm not better or worse than I was four years ago when I wasn't taking it. Believe me, they have tested me a million times. But if I don't have it, things get bad, _fast._ If I miss it two hours, I start shaking. Six, I lose my muscular strength. A day—" he broke of, suddenly alert at something he'd heard. He stood up, anxious now.

Liz's eyes went to the door, her heart all that she could hear. For one horrible instant, she _knew_ they had been caught.

"Listen, I can get you a video if you'd like, but I don't have time for this now. Do you want my blood?"

She nodded, her eyes still glancing at the door. Sure, she needed to sit him down and go step by step on the circumstances surrounding the use of this drug. But with the threat of discovery so vivid in her mind right now, all she wanted was for him to go.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked one last time as the syringe filled with the dark red of his blood two minutes later.

"I will be once you get me out of there," he answered with barely the hint of a smile.

"I'm going as fast—"

"I know," he said, meaning it, the syringe now full. "I just—I just need for things to calm down. I might not come for a couple of weeks."

"Okay… I'll have a list of questions for you to take home—"

"No," he cut her sentence, his eyes one hundred percent in the here and now. "If I'm caught with those, it's over. I'll make time on my next visit."

As usual, all that was left of Max a moment later was a vial of blood and a whole lot of unanswered questions.


	9. Through the Hoops

_March 15__th__, 2011 – Day 1618 and counting_

There's nothing like your birthday to have everyone pay attention to you. And this year, celebrations started earlier.

My earliest memories are of Frank and Maggs looking at me on my bed. I don't really remember many specifics, as life was a constant routine for the first two years. A lot of learning, a lot of games.

Many people were in my life back then, a lot of white coats, and false smiles and hungry eyes. I didn't understand why back then, but I was aware I didn't like those people. I still don't.

I was always trying to be better. To impress them. And I got plenty of rewards and genuine smiles from a few of them. But as time went on, fewer and fewer people were allowed anywhere near me.

Knowing about me requires a clearance level so high they had to make up a new name for it. Or that's what Frank tells me, anyway. Unfortunately, once you get that clearance, it's hard to not see you around again.

And so, for the past two weeks, I've had to put up with Frank's nemesis and the bane of my existence: Dr. Samuel Summers.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine<br>Through the Hoops**

* * *

><p>"I think we would have known if Max was capable of telepathy by this point," the ever diplomatic Frank said with just a touch of impatience. That Summers thought Frank was beneath him and was taking things extremely soft and easy with Max was no secret. That Max foiled every single test as much as he could to disappoint Summers, was.<p>

Alas, telepathy was really out of his league.

"And now?" Summers went on with the white cards, completely ignoring Frank's latest comment.

Hooked to so many electrodes he'd lost count, Max stared at the back of the white card. A star, a circle, three lines, any of a number of geometrical figures could be behind, and Max was half trying to actually see what Summers was seeing. The irony was that, had Max really had the ability to read minds, he would stay out of Summers's at all costs. Something was wrong with that man's soul.

"You're not even trying…" Summers warned, his green eyes getting darker.

"It's like Frank says, we've been doing this exercise my whole life, and I never get anything."

It was the wrong thing to say.

"Yeah, some of us think that has more to do with technique than with talent," Summers explained, placing the card face down. "Some think you would reach higher standards and accomplish better results if you were pushed in the right direction, by the right people."

It had never really occurred to Max that Frank could be replaced. That one day he would come from one of those missions to find a new doctor to handle him.

The mere idea of Summers giving him his weekly dose was chilling enough. Frank would understand once Max disappeared. Summers would hunt him down like a dog.

"We've tried a lot of methods, Samuel," Frank said, making Max cringe internally at their first-name status. "Maybe telepathy is one place where he just can't go. Or maybe he needs another telepath for it to work."

"That would be useless, now wouldn't it?" Summers answered, shuffling the cards thoughtfully, slowly. Calculating.

It was light years away from how Parker's eyes looked. It had been unfair of him to accuse her of seeing him as a lab experiment when he'd presented himself as one to begin with. With Summers around, though, it was hard not to feel claustrophobic and so utterly used.

If Max could read thoughts, though, he would be able to read their enemies' plans. Passwords, codes, meetings. The possibilities were endless. It would make escaping much more difficult, as well.

"Now, what's the card?"

With all his telemetry being recorded, Summers was aware of how much effort Max was actually putting into the task. Heart rate, oxygen, adrenaline, brain activity, it all changed when he was using his powers, or even when he was thinking about using them. _The sooner he sees you can't do this, the sooner he'll leave,_ he coached himself, getting ready for one more time.

Three days ago he'd been wiped out after twelve hours of telekinesis gymnastics. Frank had let him go to get his head clear, and all he'd been able to think about was Parker and how much she might have advanced. He'd gone to her straight like an arrow, his idiotic impulse almost costing him his little secret. No one had been following him, but it had been pure luck. With Summers around, all bets were off.

"Hmm… pity," the doctor finally said five minutes later, for once assured Max _had_ been trying his hardest. He didn't look pleased.

Behind him, Frank looked grim.

"Maybe there's something else I can do with the card," Max hurried to say, eager to please Summers so he would leave Frank alone.

"I'm listening," Summers said, while Frank frowned. With all his powers cataloged and tested, there was hardly any ace under his sleeve to show.

"I can't see what's on the card right now, but I can change it to whatever I want."

"By touching it, yes—" Summers said, unimpressed.

"We've been trying to eliminate the touching part," Frank interrupted, "but Max gets headaches, bad enough that he has to stop for the entire day. It's not viable for field use."

Frank's murderous glare at Max was impossible to miss. They both knew what was going to happen next before Summers opened his mouth. The good doctor would test Max extensively until either Max got it right, or Summers got tired of waiting for it to happen.

"Oh, that sounds interesting. Tell me more about it."


	10. True Colors

_Journal entry 6, March 30th, 2011_

It's hard not to keep staring at the calendar, counting how many days go by, wondering if tonight's the night. Two weeks have passed since I last saw him, and although it doesn't mean he'll be standing in the doorway tomorrow, it does mean chances are he'll be here this week.

Lately, I've been wondering more and more what does he do between our meetings? Does he work for the CIA or the FBI? Does he spend endless hours being debriefed? And does he travel around the world, coming and going from exotic locations?

What sort of life does Max have, really?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten<br>True Colors**

* * *

><p>"Tell me you have something." The desperation in Max's words was thinly veiled in his voice, and full blown in his eyes. Liz had been about to turn off the lights when he'd come literally around the corner.<p>

_Something's changed,_ she thought fleetingly, her hand still on the light switch. She'd been that close to leaving.

"I've just ordered some fancy new equipment to run some new tests," she said, her eyes taking in Max's body as she moved to stand in front of him. He'd lost weight in the two weeks since she'd seen him, and he looked even more exhausted than last time.

"So that's a no," he said dejectedly, leaning against his doorframe, as she'd come to think of his usual spot. All it was missing was a plaque saying _I belong to Max _to make it official_. _The lights flickered for a moment, making her look up.

"Not exactly," Liz corrected, placing her purse on the counter and moving back to her lab station. Max followed her inside. "What it means is that I've discarded a lot of obvious possibilities, and now I'm concentrating on drug groups. I do have the list of questions if you have the time…?"

"God, I forgot about the video and your samples," he said as he sat down on the stool next to hers, opening a drawer and getting a syringe out.

"Is… is everything okay?" Liz asked, sure her questions would be ignored.

"I'm just tired," he said dismissively while she went to her office to get the questions. She'd spent fourteen days editing and re-editing that list, but she was still nervous about it. Max was never the answering type.

He'd filled two vials of blood by the time she sat down. Curiously, he was drinking coffee from a Starbucks cup when she came back, most likely bought from the store a block away. It was a little sign that civilization still existed outside the shadowy confines of her lab.

_He doesn't look good,_ she noticed privately. Max was never a bundle of joy, but he was never this down either.

"Let me guess, black with no sugar?" she asked teasingly, trying to get him away from the cloud of problems that hung over his head.

"Black, yes, with _lots_ of sugar," he corrected, raising the cup in silent cheers. "There's not enough sugar on Earth," he added, sipping it again. It dissipated some of the tension in his shoulders.

"You really should get more rest," she said, looking him in the eye, the sheet of paper in her hands forgotten for one second.

"Now that_ he's_ gone, I will," he answered in a quiet tone. So many nameless people were around him, and she had no way to follow. "So, shoot."

"Okay… Okay… How many doses did they give you before you felt addicted to it?"

Max's hand moved reflexively on the cup, gripping it harder. The lights acted up again, flickering as if a power outage was imminent.

"About a month, I guess…" Max said, ignoring their electrical problem, "I didn't really feel any addiction between shots, so I wouldn't know."

"Four doses, once a week, then?" she asked, writing it down.

"Four… maybe six… not more than that," he was thoughtful, nursing his cup. "But you've got to understand, my metabolism is really different. Some things affect me really fast, some don't even make a dent."

_It can never be easy with you, can it?_

"Has it ever given you any reactions? A rash… nausea… headaches?"

He winced at that, his hand gripping the cup even tighter.

"No, it never—" he raised the cup to his lips as he searched for the right answer, "All it does is stop me from going into withdrawal." He sipped, and as he did, something strange started to happen to the cup. Strange enough for Liz to stare at it.

_It's a trick of the light,_ she told herself, the green trademark color of the cup suddenly looking rather red.

"What?" Max asked a second later, clearly unaware of what was happening to his coffee. Following her line of sight, he turned to look at the cup, his face stunned for a moment. "Oh…" It was yellow now.

"How—ho—" Liz tried to ask, stuck. Max looked at the cup more intently, the yellow turning to dark green once more. She stepped back, her eyes glued to his hands.

"Doctor, it's nothing—"

A thousand thoughts ran through her mind. Mostly about what those hands could do, mostly about how much she didn't know about him. She stood up before her mind could consciously arrive to the conclusion that he wasn't human, therefore, she wasn't safe.

She almost tripped on her way back, trying to escape to somewhere, anywhere, as far as she could go.

"Stay away from me!" she whispered. The lights flickered once more.

"I'm the same man I was two months ago."

_And that's just it, isn't it? I have no idea what kind of man you are. _

She shook her head as he slowly rose from the stool, his eyes almost miserable, almost—

He yawned. He yawned in that way people do when they'd been working for far too many hours, so that the only thing they can think of is sleep. He yawned with completely disregard for her mounting terror. He yawned because he was clearly at the end of his rope, at the end of caring anymore.

She felt rather stupid, staring at him as he tried to shut his mouth, tears of tiredness escaping down his cheeks. Down to his molecular level, he was nothing like her, but here, standing in front of her, he was as human as the next guy.

It hit her like a high speed train. "They've been using you."

All her fears evaporated at that one realization. He could—he could _what?_ What would it take to change the physical color of a structure? Her scientific mind got lost in the details, but it didn't derail her from the truth of it all. "They've been using you so hard you can barely stay awake."

"Yeah, that's it in a nutshell," he said with a tired, dark chuckle. He sighed deeply, resigned. "But the man behind that is gone. Unfortunately, he left me with some control issues. I didn't mean to startle you."

It all came back to her in a rush. From the first moment she saw him, all the way to the here and now with the cup incident. It all made _sense._ "This is why you're running."

"This is why they leashed me," he corrected her, sitting down again. "It's all rather complicated, and I wish I had the focus right now to explain it, but suffice it to say that this changes nothing. I can do some magic tricks, don't think of it beyond that."

"_Don't_ think of it beyond that? Are you kidding me? Two minutes ago I would have said that what you did was impossible. Now I can't even think fast enough to try to come up with _ideas_ of how it works."

"That's not what should matter to you," Max said in a rather threatening way.

"But don't you see? Understanding how it all happens will help us get the answers you're looking for faster!"

"Understanding it—What do you think I did the last two weeks?" the question had enough bitterness to stop Liz short. "That's what they're trying to do. That's what they're _always_ trying to do. You're not going to understand it, Dr. Parker. You'll have the samples, and I'll answer your questions. But forget about what you just saw."

Max stood up, the cup still in his hand. He looked so much older than when he'd come through that door back in January; he had practically aged before her eyes right now at implying how much everyone wanted a piece of him. He turned to leave, as he always did.

"Max?" she asked to his back.

"Do you have more questions?" he asked flatly, not looking at her.

_Yes, twenty-six, but you don't need this right now, do you?_

"No. Just… Be careful." 

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Hey! This is actually one of my favorite chapters. Do you have any fave scene so far?


	11. Snapshot

_April 7th, 2011 – Day 1639 and counting_

Something changed a week ago. Something I'm not sure if I it like or not, and while I try to decide it—to _understand_ the risks of it—I'm trapped. I can't go to her until I make a choice, I can't search for a way out, I can't trust that I'm making the right choice. I can't—_God! _It's as if I'm unable to concentrate for more than thirty seconds before thoughts of that cup, the flickering light bulb, and the smell of disinfectant start playing in my memory again and again.

I can't stop hearing Parker's warning about being careful. It's the way she said it, without her really knowing what I'm up against, that haunts me. I was expecting the rejection, and of course, the hunger in her eyes to take me apart in as many pieces as she could.

I expected the fear, I _prepared_ for it, but I never expected it to dissolve so fast. The way her eyes went from sheer terror to utter understanding is unnerving, almost as if she could see through my soul. I've never heard anyone besides Frank and Maggs say _be careful_ and mean it. And I can't let myself think she means it.

The crazy thing is, all she saw was me changing the color of a cup. What would she think if she knew about all my powers?

Or what I do with them?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<br>Snapshot**

* * *

><p>"The primary target will be at point D at 1100 hours," Captain Meyers explained to Max. "The team will cover your entry through point C, from here, here, and here. Our window of opportunity will be limited to three and a half minutes, tops."<p>

Max's eyes followed the blueprints, the team leader's voice confident. He'd already scanned them with all the exits and evacuation routes, but reviewing the plan with the whole team was always necessary. His life depended on these men and women doing their job with deadly precision. In an operation like this, timing was everything.

"The secondary target will be at point E, but we're not hopeful about getting that far. The security system codes would require more time than we've got."

_Says you_, Max thought, visualizing what he had to do. Dozens upon dozens of surveillance photos were neatly stacked by his side. He'd been studying them from the moment he got on the plane until the moment he entered the makeshift headquarters. It was a good plan, far better than half the missions Max had done.

Stationed three blocks away from their objective, the adrenaline of the upcoming mission started to run in his veins. All in all, he'd be less than four hours in this foreign country. He wondered absently what it would be like to be a tourist. To actually get to know a little about where he was.

The review went on for fifteen more minutes. Once it ended, they had half an hour before showtime.

Going to the corner, Max changed his clothes into a guard's uniform, taking his time in the task of undressing and dressing again. It helped calm his nerves and keep his mind clear.

"What exactly do you do?" the guy in front of him asked. It was not an unusual question, but it often came with the envy and arrogance of older Black Ops. This time the question was curious. It came from their team's hacker.

"I bypass security in a way no one else can," Max answered truthfully. "You'll see."

"We've been planning this thing for months," the hacker said, passing his hands over his blond hair. "And then they told us we've gotten ourselves a 'specialist', whatever _that_ means. I'm even contemplating hacking your file just to see why suddenly everyone in the high command was so happy."

"You can do that?" Max asked, a ray of hope forming and then fading. He couldn't risk asking anyone getting to his files. He couldn't let anyone know how badly he wanted them.

"I... I think I'm not going to answer that," the guy said slowly, looking rather afraid.

"But it _could_ be done, right?" Max pressed. With everything that had happened with Summers and Parker, he hadn't had much time to go back to his hacking studies. Needless to say, progress was slow.

"Damn straight it can be done! There's no perfect system, no impenetrable fortress, just people who give up too soon. Everything can be hacked, my friend, if you have the... _dedication_ and mental skills, of course."

"Of course."

"And so you know, with or without you, we would've solved that security system issue sooner or later."

"Right."

Max started tying his boots. He could fuse the laces together and stopped worrying about them, but this was the part he liked the best. His fingers moved methodically, passing the laces through every hoop and every twist.

"Tell you what, let's make this interesting," the hacker said, maybe getting frustrated with Max's lack of sharing about his work secrets, maybe because this was _his _way of keeping calm. "If you can get to the target without me figuring out how, I'll hack whatever you want. Your girlfriend's e-mail? Someone's bank account? Oh! Criminal records!"

"If you can get my file, I'll be impressed enough," Max answered without thinking, tying the laces tight with one last yank.

The guy smiled, clearly interested in the bargain.

By the time Max reached point B forty minutes later, he could feel the hacker's eyes on his back as if he were really behind him.

_What will happen if he_ does _get my file?_ Max wondered nervously, waiting for the diversion which would take the real guards away. The cameras would go on a loop next, and he'd be free to move to his target's location then.

_If I tell him not to do it now, I'll only make him more curious._

The red light on top of the camera blinked three times, the sign that he was good to go. From this moment on, he had three minutes and twenty seconds to go in and get out. That was two minutes ten seconds more than his target had to live.


	12. Friends

_Journal entry 7, April 21st, 2011_

It's funny how things change. Or rather, how our perception of them changes. It's the same doorframe, but now it's _his_ doorframe. They are the same strange blood cells, except now they hold far more secrets than I thought.

The same DNA, except maybe the non-human part of it starts to look more alien than synthetic.

The same calendar, but as the days pass by and he doesn't come back, I might be staring at the last time I ever saw him.

I don't know what exactly I saw that night three weeks ago, but I know the way he looked at me—as if I were some sort of traitor. I _know_ I told him to be careful, but did he listen?

How many people does he have to listen to?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twelve<br>Friends**

* * *

><p>"Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" The high-pitched voice of her best friend in the world sounded misplaced in the quiet lab.<p>

"Maria!" Liz exclaimed, leaving her microscope behind as she met and hugged the blonde with the fiery green eyes. "I was going to pick you up tomorrow!"

"I know! I got a plane earlier, and there's still time to go out for take-out!"

_Yes, sure. There's also enough time for Max to come, too._

Squashing those thoughts to the back of her mind, Liz started the process of shutting the lab down, securing the samples, turning off equipment. All the while, Maria was speaking a million miles per hour about how her business was doing, the guys she'd been dating, and the crappy food on the plane. The normalcy that her words brought was priceless for Liz's nerves.

She'd missed Maria _a lot. _

"So, tell me. Are there any hot lab techs around?"

"Maria! I'm their boss!"

"Aha! There _are _hot lab techs around, then!"

Liz hesitated at that. Between the blood tests and the glares, and the endless questions and the color changing cup, she _had_ seen enough of Max's biceps. Whatever he was being used for, he was kept in good shape.

_God, I'm a terrible person for thinking that._

"Spill!" Maria squealed, picking up on Liz's silence, if not in her inner turmoil.

"He's not— I mean, he's so not—"

"Boyfriend material? What? Is he liked married or something?"

_You can bet he's _or something.

"He's just not around. He kinda… sorta… _travels_ a lot," she finished. She was such a terrible liar, she was sure Maria was going to see through it. In fact, Maria was so good at it, she was going to read on her face every single time Max had stood on that doorframe, every secret he had told her, even know what type of hybrid he was.

"A mystery man! How exciting!"

Or not.

"How come Alex hasn't said anything about this? Are you keeping Mr. Perfect in the shadows?"

Liz swallowed. She was pretty sure Max would not be amused if he knew she talked about him in this way. Or any way.

"He's not Mr. Perfect. If anything, he just stormed off the office three weeks ago and hasn't called back."

_But then again, he's not around to hear me talk about him. _She wasn't going to tell Maria anything further than this, but opening up about how frustrated and worried she was about Max helped her soul. Just a few words, just a few half-truths to get it off her chest.

"Oh. My. God. You're dating him!"

_No, I'm taking him apart, molecule by molecule. Isn't that romantic?_

"No! I'm helping him with something. Besides, even if he didn't have all this baggage, and if he didn't have that attitude, _and_ if he actually were around, he's so not interested in me."

_Especially if he thinks all I see in him are blood cells and DNA sequences._

"Gay?"

_God, I hope not. _

Liz sighed, her hand reaching for the switch to turn off the light, ready to leave Max's ghost behind in the lab and have a girls' night out.

"You're impossible," she said to Maria.

"You know what's impossible?" her friend asked, all playfulness gone. "Alex told me he's been seeing you connected on Skype at these hours for months. That's how I knew you'd be at work and not at home. You can't work all the time and have no life, Liz. This isn't good for you. Even world- renowned scientists who will find the cure for cancer need to socialize, and do something other than just look at microscopes. This guy, you probably barely look at him before ducking down to your experiments and notes."

Liz paused, just before she turned the lights off. Maria stood in the doorframe, and Liz imagined Max there, looking at her with those piercing eyes of his, asking for help.

"I'm working on something important," she said quietly.

"You always are," Maria said with a smile and a sigh, walking down the hall as Liz finally turned the lights off. "All I'm saying is look beyond the microscope once in a while."

_Trust me, Maria. It's not me who doesn't want to know what's beyond the darn microscope. Not by any chance._


	13. Touch

_April 29th, 2011 – Day 1661 and counting_

There's something strange about coming back to Parker's lab. The last time I was here, she saw me using my powers and I didn't exactly leave with a smile on my face. Her _be careful_ still echoes in my ears, though.

Along my unease that now more than ever she'll see me as a rat lab and nothing else.

For the last five months, Frank has believed I've developed an unhealthy love for Starbucks, since every single day that I'm off duty I make a point of buying the largest cup of coffee and show it around. As alibis go, this is the most ridiculously thin one I've ever worked with, but God, it's working.

Parker's lab is thirty miles away from headquarters, and her Starbucks is the closest one to us. Once I knew I wanted her as Plan B, I started working around a reason to be here. A reason to stop by.

This way, the GPS on my Jeep shows that I'm really close to home, innocently enjoying a cup of coffee and maybe some cake. Nothing hiding here, guys. I'm being a nice, well-behaved boy.

I've been here five nights in a row this week, just keeping my Starbucks routine, not even glancing at the white, squared building where Parker has been working late nights. From here, I can see her office on the third floor, the lights on, even if I'm really trying to not look at them.

She's waiting for me.

And I think I'm ready to face her.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen<br>Touch**

* * *

><p>It had been ingrained in his brain to be silent. Every step, every breath, every movement of his body was trained to be quiet and efficient. Walking the three floors and approaching her lab station was done in the same manner as he would approach a target, though tonight of all nights, he was acutely aware of how strongly his heart beat, of how slowly time seemed to be moving.<p>

She was there, bent over the microscope, slightly frowning while she absently moved her hair behind her ear. She always did that.

"You know, I think I have good news this time," she said without looking up. He froze.

"No, not _that_ kind of news. God, Maria, you barely left last week!"

He let out his breath with relief. Out there, during a mission, detection would mean death or torture. He'd never been caught, and although Parker was not going to shoot him on sight, the idea that he'd been careless enough for a civilian to hear him coming would have been disturbing.

_You're driving me nuts!_

She looked up right then, smiling at whatever "Maria" told her. He braced for the fear to show up. He braced for something drastic, a change in their dynamics. He braced for something awful.

Her smile lost some of it carefree quality, but it didn't leave her lips either. "You know, something has just come up. I'll call you later, okay?"

She unplugged the earbuds faster than her friend could have said good-bye.

"I have great news!" she said, signaling with a hand for him to come in while she went to her own office.

His heart nearly stopped at that. He didn't dare to hope she'd found it. All thoughts about what she had seen of his powers, about the fear she should be feeling, about _everything_ became a moot point. The whole world seemed to stop at the prospect of Parker finally finding his cure.

"The new equipment arrived this morning _and_ I got access to some pretty amazing libraries on novel drugs!" she exclaimed, coming out of the office with a manual on some lab machine. "I think I found the general drug group. It should all be downhill from here."

Air rushed out of his lungs as his mind processed this new information. A _breakthrough. _Not the answer. Not the drug, and much less the antidote to the poison that ran in his veins, but clearly an important step.

"It suddenly occurred to me," she continued, all excited now, "every time you give me blood samples, you just stab the needle into your arm, with no fear of infection. You don't get sick, do you? I'm willing to bet you heal fast as well."

He opened his mouth to say something, but to either confirm or deny, he wasn't sure.

"You do," she stated, following his lack of response, "and that's the problem. Usually, this group of drugs has nasty side effects, like nausea and vomiting. But since your body is healing, it must kill all the side effects before they have a chance to manifest. And _voila!_ I'm finally making some progress!"

"You are?" he finally managed to say, his legs feeling rubbery all of a sudden.

"I might have an answer in a couple of weeks," she said confidently.

"A couple of weeks," he whispered, his mind racing through the implications. He needed to move things, to plan escape routes. Plant false leads. Freedom was so close it was a dizzying thought. He didn't know if he should laugh, or flee to set things in motion.

He sat down on the closest stool, feeling heavier.

"Well, with trial time, and some other aspects, it might be a few months until the final result. I mean, I know what I'm doing, but having that answer would clear the way to get you off it. Max?"

He heard her words, but he wasn't really listening to her. In his mind, he saw Frank for the last time. His room. The planes and the missions and life as he knew it. All of it was being left behind.

He was scared. He was excited. He couldn't decide which.

"Max?"

He had no idea what he would do. What he _wanted_ to do once he was out. What was he good at? Where would he hide for the rest of his life?

"Here, I think you need a bit of sugar," Parker said, suddenly in front of him with a glass of something. Cherry Coke. It tasted like heaven.

"Thank you."

"Sure."

They were quiet for a minute.

"Max," Parker started, "I will discover that drug, but it might take longer than I want."

"I know," he murmured, feeling more like himself with every sip.

"Are you all right?"

He took a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah. It's just overwhelming," he paused, not looking at her but at some remote future that was full of uncertainty. "I guess I didn't really believe it could happen. I've suddenly realized that—that I have no idea what I'm going to do after I leave."

She picked up her stool and carried it to where he was finishing his soda. She sat down next to him and said nothing, but all the same, Max could feel her eyes on him.

"What?" he asked, feeling self-conscious.

"What else can you do?" she asked simply, shrugging a little. A spark in her eyes reminded him of Frank, the same way he used to look at Max when he was a kid, exploring the possibilities of his mind. Max was used to being the experimental subject, and he guessed it was only natural Parker would be eager to know. He was unique, after all.

"A lot of things," he said, quietly. Reality had a nasty way of invading his life, usually in the form of someone with a lab coat. "But you're right, about the healing and not getting sick."

"And changing colors," she said, with an encouraging smile. "I spent, like, a hundred hours obsessing on that," she confessed, blushing slightly. "And the flickering lights? Tell me that was you?!"

Her eagerness confused him. Shouldn't she be cautious and fearful about what he was? About what he could do? For the first time since he had come into this lab, he actually wanted to talk to her, to show off his abilities, and as soon as he realized that, the more mixed up his feelings became.

"That was… unintentional."

Her smile faltered at that. "Max? Can you tell me what happened?"

"I sometimes have these surges of—"

"Not with the lights," she said in all seriousness. "Those weeks. Before the last time you came, I mean. You were really, _really_ stressed out and looking pretty bad. I know they were using you. Can you tell me what happened?"

_No._

"Max?"

"Summers believes I'm not being pushed hard enough," he said instead. He wanted to shut his mouth, he just couldn't. These emotions—these goddamn contradictory emotions tore him apart in that moment. She shouldn't be friendly, but she was, and for once in his life he wanted a friend. He wanted to tell someone that deep down he wasn't happy with Frank, or the tests, or his missions. For once he wanted to voice something that made him feel guilty, even if he couldn't explain why.

"Frank doesn't really understand how I do what I do, so even when Summers is not around, they keep doing tests, theorizing and telling each other good job. Except when I'm in the field, of course. Then it's all about the mission and getting results. It's what I do, it's what I'm really good at," he said, unable to find words to what he felt. Unwilling to look deeper into these thoughts. "But I'm _fine_ with it," he added, convincing himself that no matter what, he could deal with it all. "I'm different. They made me."

"Hey," she said, leaning closer to him. "They don't own you."

"You don't run from people who don't own you, doctor." He looked at her, really looked at her, willing her to understand what she should have known all along: he was a prisoner, yes, but he was also a project, a _subject_ that no one wanted to let go.

"What did they do to you that you can't see you're _not_ fine?" she asked in a whisper, reaching for his hand.

He barely registered the touch of her hand on his. Instead, he found himself watching a much younger version of Parker, one who was working as a waitress, her eyes locked on two men who were arguing with a gun. The sound of the shot was deafening, and the pain in his abdomen immediate.

He moved backwards, breaking clear from her touch and whatever that vision had been. He half-fell from the stool, his head spinning as he tried to get his bearings again. Cold sweat broke out on his skin.

"What's wrong?" Parker asked, all worried eyes, trying to catch him before he fell for sure. He caught his balance at the last second, breathing hard.

"Max? Are you okay?"

_No. Definitely not. _He had no idea what had just happened, but he was not about to say that.

"I— I gotta go."

He left, all the euphoria and uncertainty about his new future evaporating. If Frank discovered he'd stumbled upon a new power, life as Max knew it was over.


	14. Double-Take

_Journal entry 8, May 29th, 2011_

Somehow, I know it's my fault. I don't know what I said or what I did, but the look on Max's face as he stumbled out of the lab a month ago is burned into my mind the same way the shooting at the Crashdown Café is.

I keep telling myself that he'll come tonight. That maybe tomorrow when I arrive early at the office, he'll be waiting in his doorframe, a Starbucks cup in his hands and an apologetic smile on his lips.

I don't think I've ever seen him smile.

I don't think I ever will.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen<br>Double-Take**

* * *

><p>Liz's routine was simple: Get to work half an hour early every morning to ensure her research was secure. Do the day's trials as fast as she could. Take a quick lunch while discarding one theory or the other about Max's mystery drug. Work, work, work during the afternoon hours, and stop pretending she cared about any of that that at 5:00pm. The serious work started at that time, and she would usually end up leaving the lab at eight. Or nine.<p>

Or ten.

She'd promised herself 10pm was the limit. If Max couldn't bother to come earlier, she wouldn't lose more sleep over him and the whole situation, either. As days became weeks, and then turned into a full month, she seriously reconsidered the curfew. Would Max come around midnight?

Her grilled cheese sandwich had gone cold as she went over some lab results. She still had six minutes of her lunch hour to dedicate to the puzzle that had taken over her life almost six months ago.

The numbers suddenly made sense.

She blinked, the pencil she was using to make notations paralyzed. It actually, _truly_ made sense.

_Oh. My. God._

She couldn't breathe. Some part of her mind told her she couldn't be sure just yet. That she was just setting herself up for disappointment. Some number, some test result, _something_ must be wrong.

"Oh my God…" she whispered, her eyes going wider. It took her a second to rip out the page full of scribbles from her notepad and start a new one. Her eyes went to her computer screen a minute later, her fingers not clicking fast enough to keep with her racing thoughts.

There were a million ways she could be wrong, but her heart told her she wasn't. The more she tried to rein in her emotions, the more she felt like yelling _Eureka!_ at the top of her lungs. She'd cracked it. She discovered the right group, she was narrowing it to the last compounds. She still had a dozen variables to figure out, but _Yes! I did it! I—_

"Dr. Parker?" someone knocked on her open door, and Liz whirled around with an impossibly huge grin, feeling ecstatic.

She froze again.

The man in front of her was Max, but not really. Liz stared at him, her eyes finding the differences at the same rate her smile faded. He looked… _older._ His eyes didn't hold the same "back-off" vibe that her Max's did. This Max was friendlier, his body language open, his taste in clothing different, colorful. The bright blue shirt and his khaki trousers gave him an easygoing air that Max sorely lacked.

"Is there a problem?" her boss asked, appearing from behind. OldMax frowned at her, and then turned to look at William.

"I might have startled your department head," he said with a smile, turning to look at her.

"Oh, Elizabeth. Sorry for the abrupt interruption," William said, smiling as well. "Let me introduce you to our new partner, John Herschel."

_Like the astronaut?_ Liz numbly thought. John extended his hand with a friendly smile –the smile Max had never given her— and she automatically extended hers. His handshake was firm, his hand warm. It lasted a little bit longer than a usual handshake would, and his eyes seemed to glaze over for a couple of seconds. Maybe he'd remembered something?

Her boss was talking, giving compliments to her work and the advances she'd made in the past few months. Advances made partly thanks to Max's blood results and a few creative ideas she'd used to discover the drug that kept him on a leash.

She kept looking at John, expecting some sign that he _was_ Max in some sort of disguise. _What if he ages super fast when he reaches a threshold? Is that what he meant when he said he had two ages? Is Max dying?_

"I'd love to invite our star researcher to lunch?" John hinted, thoroughly ignoring the leftovers of her take-out lunch. She'd barely eaten, and her double-crossing stomach grumbled right that second.

"Of course, of course! Let me arrange something and we can be on our way."

William left, which was exactly what John wanted. His sweet, friendly demeanor evaporated as he casually closed the door.

"You've seen him." It wasn't a question.

"I—I don't know wh—"

"Listen, and listen carefully. I've been waiting for an opportunity like this for twenty years. You think I would risk coming this close to the base if I wasn't reasonably sure he's around here?"

Silence. The intensity of his words, the way he placed his hands on her desk, anxiously trying to make her understand—that was pure Max. She swallowed, her eyes filling with tears of fear.

"He's in more danger than you can possibly imagine. In a few months, they'll take him out. They won't risk him escaping the same way I did. I thought I was already too late."

She blinked. Was this a trap? How could there possibly be _two _Maxes?

She shook her head, one last attempt to deny him answers. He leaned closer to her, the menacing vibes becoming desperate.

"Don't let him die," he whispered, the intensity of his eyes paralyzing her.

She didn't know what to do. Heck, she didn't even understand what was happening right this moment, the four walls of her office contracting into a claustrophobic space. She couldn't breathe, and the thought that Max was in a dark room somewhere, equally unable to breathe and slowly dying, drove her to act.

"They're drugging him," she whispered. A tear escaped her eye, and she wiped it out a second later. "There's no way he can escape with that running through his system."

A shadow passed over his face. His arms relaxes on her desk and he stood up straight again.

"That's what they told me. And here I am. _Free_."

"How—when—does Max know about you?"

The door opened, William cheerfully talking on his phone. "Hang on a sec. Okay guys, we're good to go."

"I can't wait to get to know you," John said with a smile that sent chills down her spine.

Half an hour later, all three of them were seated and chatting, a casual lunch among colleagues. _Boy, can looks deceive…_

"I can't claim it's all me, though," John said as the waitress left with their orders. "The mastermind behind everything is my wife. There I was, lost in life, wandering aimlessly… desperate for answers. And I found her, tucked between a microscope and a DNA sequencer. She had all the answers and then some."

William could have been wallpaper for all John cared, and Liz was starting to forget her boss was around as well. He made it sound poetic and metaphorical, but Liz knew better. He was describing the relationship between her and Max, although the golden band on his left hand gave her pause. _Could this story be true?_

"You hear that, Doctor? It can still happen to you!" William said laughing out loud. _Spending time with my boss is a nightmare,_ she thought, sipping her orange juice, suppressing her evil eye. Her boss's cellphone rang again as it had been doing all lunch long. "Excuse me," he said after checking the number, this time walking away for some privacy.

"What are you doing?" Liz asked in a whispered tone.

"I'm trying to save my brother. Or the closest thing we have to brothers. He was barely out of his pod when I escaped. I didn't know he'd been taken out until the day I left…"

"What? _What?_"

John stopped, frowning. "How much has he told you?"

"Nothing!" she said, desperate for answers. John arched an eyebrow in disbelief. "He said he was the only one. I don't think he knows much about anything."

"He _is_ the last one… I guess it stands to reason they wouldn't tell him about me."

"How many of you are out there?" John went as far as opening his mouth before her boss returned.

"And I'm back! What did I miss?"

"Oh, nothing, really. I was telling Doctor Parker about my little brother. We're like twins, really, if you don't count the age difference."

"How old is he?" William asked, glimpsing at his phone.

"Sometimes, it feels like he's twenty years younger." They both laughed. Liz busied herself with the dessert menu. "Anyway, Doctor, I know my wife has some research you might find useful. I'll tell her to send it your way."

Liz looked at him, her eyes going round.

"Is there—I mean… Is there any chance it can come with a clean sample?"

"Anything we can stamp a patent on?" William asked, smiling. Her boss was a capable administrator, but he was clueless when it came to scientific terminology. In fact, she was pretty sure she could start asking John everything she needed to know about biochemistry and William wouldn't bat an eye. Besides, he was annoyingly alert about his phone. Max's _brother_ didn't seem to care.

"You could patent it, but then I'll have to kill you."

Liz went cold. William just laughed harder. John smiled broadly, the waitress coming back with their order.

"I'm pretty sure we can arrange a sample," John said, answering her original question. "I seem to carry a healthy supply around, anyway." Her boss laughed less loudly, obviously not following. But Liz and John understood perfectly: she needed his blood. If he was Max's brother—Max's _twin,_ if that could be possible—it would be like winning the lottery.

William started talking about the business part of the lab, and John humored him. He was, after all, investing a lot of capital. She tried to follow the conversation, but all she could do was picture Max: smiling, carefree, wearing something that wasn't black or leather. Seeing him in broad daylight for once. She wanted that. God, she wanted that _so much._

John caught her staring at him, and smiled. "How about a toast?"

"To partners!" William said immediately, raising his glass before Liz or John could do the same.

"To friendships!" John said with the same enthusiasm, turning to look at her.

"To answers," she said with a tiny smile.

"To answers, indeed," he agreed.

She nodded, wondering if she was smiling because she believed him, or because he reminded her of Max.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> Okay guys, I'm gonna go dark for a while. If you'd like to get a preview from next chapter, leave me a signed review and I'll gladly send it your way :)


	15. The Best Lies

_June 2nd, 2011 – Day 1705 and counting_

The last time I discovered a new power, I was so delighted I couldn't see the hungry eyes of those around me. Even Frank was so enthusiastic devising the tests that it all felt like a party. Of course, once Summers found out—once the tests started to get really intense, my cheerfulness evaporated.

Back then it was only tests. If they know what I'm doing now, I won't be able to see daylight for _months_. Parker was right, this people don't own me, but that won't stop them from tearing me apart.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen<br>The Best Lies  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Max had never been prone to hugs, handshakes, or touching as a general rule, which made avoiding them easier.<p>

It had started with Parker a month ago. What he'd seen when he'd touched her — the dinner, the aliens painted on the wall, the shooting — it could all be traced back to an incident back in 1999 in Roswell, New Mexico, Parker's hometown. She'd been shot and spent a few weeks at the hospital. He touched his abdomen, remembering all too well the pain of the bullet piercing his skin.

The whole article was meaningless after that. The flash had been real, he didn't need Parker to corroborate it. The problem was his newfound power hadn't stopped.

After Parker, every other person he touched sent him an image, a scene, usually of a very stressful moment in their lives. Two weeks ago, it started happening with objects.

Today, he wore gloves.

"You seem… different," Frank remarked as he prepared the syringe with the amber drug, his weekly fix.

"I guess I still haven't shaken off Summers's last visit," Max lied, taking the question in a stride. In truth, he was weary. Avoiding touching people was relatively easy. Avoiding touching objects was impossible. Even opening a door could lead to a dizzying trip into the past, and coming out of those visions always left him with a sense that he wasn't all out just yet.

"Maybe I should—I was thinking that maybe you can give me the videos from a few years back. If I can see what I struggled with before, I might be able to find another way. Think of something new, maybe?"

"Hm…" Frank said, looking at him. "You're tense."

_Understatement. _

"It's the thing with the changing molecular structures without touching them. I _know_ we've tried a lot of things and there's nothing else that we can do. That power is just not there. I just wish there was a way to shut Summers up, you know? Prove to him that I'm not hiding anything. That I've reached my limit."

The best lies, he'd been taught, were the ones that were based on truth. It seemed the principle also applied to alibis and escape plans. _Prove to them that I'm not only eager to cooperate but that there's nothing left in me for them to poke around—and then prove them wrong._

"What is making you think this?"

Frank placed the syringe down and looked at Max in a clinical way. Max lowered his eyes.

"What if next time, he follows through with his threats and takes you away? I'm not stupid, Frank. I know I owe you a lot of the freedoms I have, and that Summers won't hesitate to take them away. Is this whole thing for nothing?" he asked, signaling the syringe and hunching his shoulders.

"I won't deny you have valid concerns, but what brought this up? Summers comes around often enough that you should be used to it. To his way of doing things."

The thing about the drug was that no one was sure of its long term side effects. And paranoia was high on that list. Max had read about it eons ago, and Frank's questioning brought it all back to his mind.

"A cup of coffee," Max answered, calming himself down. Maybe there was far more truth than lies in his alibi. "It occurred to me a few weeks ago how fragile my Starbucks routine is. If Summers takes you away, he'll take that cup and everything it represents in a heartbeat, too."

Frank put his hand on his shoulder. "It won't happen. Stop worrying about these things, okay? You've been having a lot of work, and it's not going to get any lighter. We have briefing tomorrow morning for your next assignment."

It took all of Max's will not to flinch at the contact. And all his training to remain impassive when he got the flash.

_Review the notes again!_ Frank argued with Summers in this same office, both looking younger. _I don't care what you accomplished with yours! I won't push Max in that direction!_

It was over before Frank stopped talking.

_Yours?_

"So, ready for your shot?"

Max nodded, blinking to get his bearings.

"You do know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Frank asked while holding Max's arm. "I might not have all the answers, or solve all the problems, but I'm a good listener."

_Oh, now that you mention it, any good ideas on what can I do with my life once I escape from this prison?_

"Sure, Frank. Thanks."

It was a bittersweet moment to say thanks while the drug was injected on his blood stream. At least he was getting better at lying.

"By the way, I've been meaning to ask. Why the gloves?"

* * *

><p>Thanks for the reviews! Just make sure you're PM's are on so I can send you the preview for next chapter! *cough* serenity *cough*<p> 


	16. Mirage

_June 3rd, 2011 – Day 1706 and counting_

It's not easy to admit that I'm scared. Having no one to help me understand, to help me _control_ these visions —_flashes _for lack of a better word— it's harder than I thought. What if they never stop? What if they only get worse?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen<br>Mirage  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"Are we <em>boring<em> you?" Major McMillan asked him with a steely look in his eyes. Max wasn't easily startled, and he hid it well as he focused on the blueprints.

"I think we have a better option—we go this route," he explained, pointing at the opposite side of what they've been talking for the past half an hour.

Briefing was no laughing matter. His life depended on this, and there was no way he could afford to be distracted. The problem was the chair he sat in was giving him random flashes every few minutes. All kinds of people, all kinds of thoughts and discussions. That he could keep his own reality straight was a miracle of epic proportions.

"We _can't_ use that route, because the security system cannot be disabled remotely."

"I'll disable it," he answered, his eyes following the route. He'd noticed it at the beginning of the meeting, before the flashes had started. Once his mind was split in ten different directions, he hadn't dared to bring it up.

The commanding officer smirked. "Sure you'll disable it. Now, this route will—"

"If he says he'll do it, it means he'll do it," Frank said from his corner, all serious business. It was rare to see him interjecting in a briefing, but it also saved Max from awkward explanations. Since hardly anyone had clearance to know what he could do, it left him in a position where they had to trust him because he said so. In his experience, _no one_ believed him because he said so. At least not this early on in the planning. Frank endorsing his route meant they at least had to listen to him.

"Once I disable the security system, your men can take positions here and here. I'll go this route, get behind the target's study. How much time can you buy me?"

The leader watched him with skepticism, and then turned to look at Frank with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you kidding me? We've been gathering intel and planning this mission for over a year. There's no way you can go that way. What are you going to do?"

"I'll wave my hand and will it open," Max deadpanned. Frank did not look amused.

"If you don't want his services, gentlemen," Frank said with all the calm in the world, "by all means, we can end this meeting now."

After four years of undercover missions and countless targets, he should be used to this kind of session. In the end, despite their misgivings and their frustration at not having the clearance to know _what_ Max could do, they always caved. No one could argue with four years of missions achieved and targets eliminated. His reputation preceded him.

"_If_ you can disable that security system, where would you need us?" the commander relented, quite unhappy. He moved beside Max, touching his shoulder as he examined the blueprints from Max's point of view.

_I'm not letting you die! McMillan shouted to one of his men. Walls disappeared, desert took its place. Death was everywhere, in every corner, in every shadow. Shots and shouts and so much pain. He was never going to get out of here alive. _

"I—I'd suggest here," Max pointed out, blinking rapidly.

"How about here?" the older man asked, raising an eyebrow.

_Keep it together, Max, or you're going to get yourself killed._

All he had to do was get a hold of this new power. Like every one of his powers, it was only a matter of practice. Only a matter of time.


	17. Special Delivery

_Journal entry 9, June 4th, 2011_

I _knew_ I should have skipped town the minute Max left my lab back in January. The fact that today marks our 6 month "anniversary" is not only ironic, but a sobering thought. I can't claim I didn't know accepting Max's proposition was dangerous. Working with his twin older brother, though…

There's no turning back, is there?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen<br>Special Delivery  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Five days ago, Liz's research had been interrupted when John Herschel had walked into her office, turning her perception upside down. This time, when the interruption came, it was less dramatic, but much more important.<p>

"Sign here, please?" the guy said, pointing out a line at the end of the UPS form. Special Delivery was written in bold red letters that for one moment morphed in her imagination to FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.

Maybe CLASSIFIED? What was the correct level for this kind of thing?

All she had for sender was a P.O. Box somewhere in Florida, but it might as well have a neon sign proclaiming "JOHN HERSCHEL". What was special about this delivery was that it contained a refrigeration unit and a separate box. _The research,_ she thought, eagerly signing two more places, her eyes glancing at her newfound treasures.

The delivery man said thanks and left. Outside, a couple of technicians looked her way, and then got back to their own research. Lately, she'd been getting so many deliveries, to the point it was no longer a novelty.

Closing the door behind her and locking it, Liz didn't waste a minute to open the refrigeration unit. A note was the first thing she saw:

_I hope it's clean enough. _

The calligraphy was decidedly male. Taking it out, she hoped for a vial of blood. She got six, along with other fluid samples. The three last times Max had been here, he'd been too stressed out with whatever testing they were doing to him to leave anything behind but blood.

She inspected them to make sure nothing was broken, and placed them in her fridge. She went for the other box. This one didn't have a note inside, but as soon as she started to go through the pages, she knew the handwriting on this one was female. _Someone did help you, huh? _ she absently thought, pouring the two hundred pages or so of data onto her desktop.

It wasn't organized in any way, shape, or form. In fact, it looked as if someone had hastily thrown them in the box. Granted, not every scientist out there shared her passion for color-keying everything for her convenience, but a little hint of what she was looking at would have been greatly appreciated.

She looked at her watch. Lunch hour was over. Reports needed to be finished, e-mails to be sent. She bit her lip, and with an exasperated sigh put everything back. She would work on it in three hours. All she needed was patience.


	18. Doorframe

_Journal entry 10, June 5th, 2011_

I have no idea who is the woman who wrote all these notes, but I feel a strange kind of sisterhood with her. Did John appear one night out of nowhere and present her with an impossible enigma? Was he as imposing and brooding as Max is? I hope he was, because he seems to be a great guy and doing fine. Gives me hope for Max's future, once he's away from that place.

Whoever she is, I gotta hand it to her: she did all of this twenty years ago, and John is still around. Unfortunately, _Max_ is not around, hasn't been for five weeks now. Wouldn't it be ironic if, just when he's so close to getting his answers, he's taken away?

Of course, I can't think like that. Max is too smart to let himself be caught. I still won't feel right until he crosses that doorframe, all brooding and mysterious, demanding my report.

God, Max! Where are you?

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen<br>Doorframe  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Few things were more calming to Liz Parker than solving puzzles. Or organizing. Sprawled in front of her, she had six different piles of pages, multi-colored post-its sticking out everywhere —including her hair— two sharpies, three different colored highlighters, and all the patience in the world.<p>

The humming of her laptop was the only sound around while she read all the data, formulas, and biochemistry stats. All these pages were barely the tip of the iceberg, and although they didn't tell her all the story, they did tell her how it ended: John was free.

She looked up at the door as she'd done every once in a while in the last five hours. Her watch said it was close to midnight, perfect for Max to make a shadowy entrance. When she spotted him there, watching her from his favorite place, she had to blink a couple of times to make sure it wasn't her imagination.

"You're back!" she said with delight, standing up.

"I wish I was always greeted with such enthusiasm," he said, coming into the light. "Although I gotta be honest here: It's been a while since someone wanted a piece of me under the microscope, Liz."

Her spirits plummeted faster than lead.

"You're not—you're not Max," she whispered, all her energy gone. John picked up on it instantly.

"I'm sorry. I take it he hasn't come in a few days?"

"Five weeks," she whispered, sitting down once more, visibly deflated. "I've been working since yesterday on the files you sent me. I'm halfway through organizing them."

"Then you know the drug won't kill him. Going through the withdrawal was no sunshine, but—"

"They changed it," she stated, picking a sheet of paper with the drug composition.

"What?"

"I haven't left the lab since your packages arrived yesterday. I did a comparison between your samples and Max's. It's not the same thing they used on you. It's close, but not the same."

God, she was tired. Her eyes felt gritty and her brain cells were this close to going on a strike. That she didn't have good news just plain sucked.

"You look tired, doctor. Here, let me help you," he said in a quiet way, getting closer to her. "It's a little trick I discovered when my wife was working on the puzzle."

He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she instantly felt warmth. "It'll take a minute. How long have you known Max?" he asked, while the warmth spread through her shoulder blades. It felt wonderful.

"Since January," she answered, turning to look at his hand. "He asked me to look at his blood and, if I was interested after that, to help him find the drug."

"And you did."

"Any scientist in his or her right mind would. I bet your wife was thrilled."

"She kicked me out of her lab, actually. But in her defense, I was stealing from her."

The warmth spread all over her back, dissipating all cramps and tense muscles. "What are you doing?" she asked with curiosity, feeling her drowsiness recede.

"A little bit of magic," he said with a small smile. "It might feel wonderful now, but is no replacement for a good night's sleep, doctor. Is there any way you can contact Max?"

She shook her head. "I'm worried. He's never been gone this long. And he knew I was close to finding his answer on our last visit. Something scared him, though. I—he—this thing with his powers happened and I got scared, but then he freaked out for no apparent reason and—Look, I'm not even sure what I'm trying to say here. John, do you think he's still alive?"

She hated to say it out loud. Voicing her fear made it feel real; a fear that had been running in the back of her mind for thirty six hours now. Maybe for five weeks straight.

"I refuse to believe Fate would be so cruel as to let me get this close, just to lose him," he said, taking his hand away.

"He really is your brother," she said, looking at John closely. "I mean, it doesn't make sense, not with the age difference. Yet you two have identical DNA. Is he like—like your clone?"

John smiled sadly at that. "I believe we both are."

Liz's eyes opened wide. "Who is the original?" she asked. John shrugged in answer.

"Max said he was a hybrid," Liz said, finally talking about the wild theories that her mind had been entertaining for so many months. "And… well… I—I know it _sounds_ crazy, but there's something…" she paused, staring at him, "something not human in there…" she whispered.

"I think my wife phrased it something like, 'You're not from around here, are you?' So, do you believe in aliens, doctor?"

She shook her head slightly, not even blinking. "Out there in the universe? Definitely. In here, standing right in front of _me_?" the last word came out scratchy.

"Would it be better if we are only _half_ alien? Technically, we're not even half. We're almost entirely human. It's very little that differentiates us from you. I can bring you my x-rays next time," he teased her, but Liz took a step back. It all made sense, and then it didn't. This created far more questions than any answers. It solved the puzzle of his cells, and to an extent, of the origin of his powers. It also explained why someone would want him on a leash.

It didn't explain what they were doing to him right now, though her imagination was ready to supply those answers.

It didn't tell her where he was now. Or when was he coming back.

"I think," John said, taking his own step back, "that this is enough information for today. Go to bed, doctor. You are no good to Max if you can't see straight." He turned to leave.

"Wait!" She wanted to know every detail. She wanted to sit him down and ask him a million questions. She wanted to be brave and she wanted him to know it.

"You never answered my question: Do you think he's alive?"

"Yes."

And with that, he was gone.


End file.
